Don't Leave Me, Disappearing Boy
by E. Blazer
Summary: Peter cleared his throat and threw a sideways glance at his brother. “It means a lot that you brought me here, Nathan.” Nathan shrugged. “It means a lot that you came.” There was a pause, and then he added, “So, are we done being sappy?”


Here we are again. This fic was a response to a challenge during the – I believe – Nathan Petrelli fic-a-thon. Tada. Questions, comments, and coconuts may be sent to me via eileenblazer(at)yahoo(dot)com. Or at my LJ, where I am comeon-eileen.

Don't Leave Me, Disappearing Boy

"You must be feeling pretty good about right now."

Nathan glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye, not quite sure where the younger Petrelli was going with that. "Oh?"

Peter's lips spread in a small grin. "Yeah, well." He drew his hands from his pockets and pointed towards a large skyscraper, the tip of which seemed to part the wide blue sky. "If you count the clouds from there to us, and look at where you're uh, flying. You're literally on Cloud Nine."

Nathan did the math and then stared at the cloud around him, a thick, white fog that ended around his knees. "Huh." Then he smiled.

"So, Nathan. How _do_ you feel?"

The distance between his feet and the ground was exhilarating. The crush of the wind to his face was the best kiss he'd had in weeks. He answered honestly: "High."

Below him, the city was _almost_ alive. He could see the beginnings of the day: food vendors driving out their carts, newspapers tossed through the air, and the occasional school bus driving through on relatively barren roads. It was still early enough they didn't _really_ have to worry about being seen. No one had been awake long enough to trust their eyes.

Peter cleared his throat and threw a sideways glance at his brother. "It means a lot that you brought me here, Nathan."

Nathan shrugged. "It means a lot that you came." There was a pause, and then he added, "So, are we done being sappy?"

"_We_? I thought you were going to start crying."

He scoffed. "Maybe from the shame of having a brother who references Cloud Nine. There are manlier allusions."

Peter said, "I'm sure you've studied enough men to figure that out."

"Says the nurse," Nathan laughed.

"Ouch."

"You made yourself a target," Nathan chided. "I taught you better." And he had, like all good brothers, and maybe some bad ones. Nathan was never sure which category he fell under, but he tried. For family, anything (even when they'd rather it be nothing).

"You used my job as a weapon."

Nathan's blue eyes brimmed with amusement. "Before all else, be armed."

"Bastard."

"It is better to be feared than loved."

Ignoring the comment, Peter dipped his chin into the collar of his coat. "You played the stereotype. I think that means I win by default."

"I think that means _I_ win by default."

"You're the one who said it!"

"You made it available."

The two flying Petrellis looked at each other and smiled suddenly, the ridiculous smile of two boys about to compete. Nathan turned from Peter to the horizon, to Peter again, and then narrowed his eyes. "Race you for the win. First person to touch ground where we took off takes it."

Peter studied the ground and knew as sure as he knew his name, as sure as the distance was great, that Nathan was going to win. Nathan _always_ won. Sometimes (often) because he was better skilled, more sure, or just plain stronger – but sometimes, sometimes it seemed like the sheer force of his want was enough to beat any odds. Peter said, "Let's raise the stakes."

"How high?"

And that prompted a raised eyebrow and a smirk from Peter. "Afraid?"

Nathan laughed. "For you. The air up here must be getting to you. You know you're going to lose, and you want to raise the stakes. How much are we talking?"

Peter knew just what he wanted to say. "Heidi-"

"Is not a trophy, but thanks. I'll pass that suggestion along. I'm sure she won't take it wrong."

"-said that you liked that Fly By Night shirt you picked up at some diner."

Nathan sighed. "If she does take it wrong, you weren't using those testicles, right?"

"Why don't we bet on that."

Nathan frowned, and Peter could have laughed because Nathan _did_ like the shirt, after all. "It's just a shirt. I thought you were past that whole, wanting to raid your big brother's closet. Not that I blame you for wanting to emulate me, but there are better ways to go about it." He paused. "Are you the one who stole my tie?"

"I didn't steal your tie."

"It was a nice one. I wouldn't hold it against you."

"Yes, you would."

"All right, I would." Nathan kicked at the clouds like they were puffs of dirt instead, and wondered, "So are we racing?"

"For your shirt?"

"_Fine_. For my shirt."

Peter nodded. "I'll call it."

"I'll call it."

"Yeah, right. Shifty politician man, I don't think so. I help people for a living, and you swindle them. _I'll_ call it." Peter held up his wrist so that he could look at the time. "On three. One-"

"I can't believe you played the politician joke."

Peter shrugged. "You made yourself a target. Two."

"I'll tell you what I tell the boys: this is coming out of your Christmas present."

Peter cocked his head. "_Three_." And they were gone, two specs moving across the sky like tiny shooting stars, heading for the same point, destined to collide. If there was prophecy in the race, they didn't catch it; there was nothing spinning through their minds but '_speed_' and '_win_' and for one, '_thank God I'm wearing shoes this time_'.

Peter tried, but somehow it was no surprise that Nathan got there first. He was brushing dust from his pants while Peter was still trying to land straight. He blew bangs from his face and shook his head in defeat. "Almost." Then, "Will you at least tell me why you like it so much?"

"My shirt?"

"No, Nathan. The principle of inertia."

Nathan straightened his back and missed the feeling of air under his feet. Missed the height and the freedom. But then, he was grounded again, in more ways that one, and the weight of his responsibility returned to his shoulders, held him down more firmly to the dirt underneath his shoes. "It's a reminder of a good day," he said, in way of a response.

"I thought you said that was the day you were kidnapped."

"Yeah. Well." _That's the day I really flew_, he didn't say, but Peter read it in his face all the same.

"You could fly all the time if you wanted. Not just to escape from strange men and errant brothers. Your wings won't melt."

Nathan sighed. "And if they do? I've got too much to take care of on the ground, Peter. I can't afford to risk going up there." His eyes shifted to the open sky, and looked wistfully on. "I'll give you the shirt, if you stay."

Peter sighed. "I wish I could. But you don't have time for this. You're running a campaign, and I-"

"You're just running."

"I'm trying to find a way to save New York. Maybe the world." He added, "It's what _you_ would do."

"Maybe." Nathan grinned wryly at his brother. "Maybe we've had this conversation before."

Peter said only, "I promise I'll be back." And then he reached out and touched his brother's arm, and it was easy to fall into a hug; it would've been easy to remain there, held up in Nathan's embrace, protected by his strength. Nathan had always been his pillar.

It would have been easy.

_It_ _would've_.

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The doors swung open wide and all heads turned to catch the long, purposeful strides of Nathan Petrelli, as he moved past the collection of people and desks, towards his private office. And assistant sought to approach him, and he quickly waved her off. "Now now. I just got a call from someone a couple streets over who thinks she's recognized Peter. I'm going to go check it out. Cancel my morning appointments. I just came back for my-"

"Wallet?" One of the volunteers looked confused. "Sir, that call came in early this morning. You left hours ago. You took your wallet with you."

"That's ridiculous," Nathan muttered, but at the same time his fingers found his wallet in his back pocket, and he couldn't quite figure out how that had happened. Then he checked his watch, and sure enough, the hour hand had jumped a few spaces. "What the hell is going on?"

The office remained in silence several moments, long enough for Nathan to consider the million different unlikely scenarios, long enough for the volunteers and paid workers to begin shifting, uncomfortably. Finally, he dropped his wrist and sigh. "Call my contacts on the police department. I'd like to know if there have been any developments in my brother's search."

He moved on to his office, and one of the more long-term helpers followed him in. "Mr. Petrelli, can I ask you a question?"

"If it's a brief one."

"We were trying to figure out for days how to get Peter out of the way, ever since public opinion suggested – I mean, now your brother is gone... isn't that what we wanted? For him to just... disappear, for a while? Wouldn't it be beneficial if we just allowed him to remain lost?"

"He's my brother," Nathan sighed, like that was all the explanation in the world. The volunteer nodded and left, but didn't understand. Peter sat, invisible, in the corner, and did.


End file.
